The panic that seized Ethan Cross was absolute and suffocating. Within minutes of receiving the council summons, he was pounding on the private side-entrance of Vivienne Laurent’s estate, his usual arrogant swagger completely shattered by the specter of impending

The Grand Pavilion of the Blackthorn Regional Assembly hall echoed with the ambient hum of hundreds of ranked wolves, pack elders, and council dignitaries. High above the polished obsidian floor, banner flags representing the major regional territories fluttered

The post-assembly reception in the private gardens of the Blackthorn estate was a performative affair of political posturing and hushed conversations. I slipped through the tall stone arches leading out to the terraced gardens, using the cool night air to clear